


Afternoon Tea

by mellyface



Series: Club President [1]
Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Eichi is evil and Hajime is cute, HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHINONON LOL, Humiliation, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Omorashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7494117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyface/pseuds/mellyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Eichi spends all afternoon drinking tea with Hajime for his birthday<br/>--</p><p>Eichi chuckles, “Please drink.”</p><p>Hajime doesn't know how to refuse, he can't exactly just say <i>no thank you, president, I have to pee</i>, not to mention Eichi is holding the cup almost obstinately in front of his face with no intention of setting it down.</p><p>So Hajime drinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afternoon Tea

**Author's Note:**

> I did it I wrote a pee fic oh my GOD
> 
> I really thought my first pee fic was going to be watatomo (read: I will be writing watatomo fic someday)  
> Please still be my friend after you read this, I promise I am a nice person. Anyway thanks as usual for reading, and also sorry if this is wonky cause yet again I wrote it on my phone at work lmao  
> Happy Birthday Hajime you are my light my honey my angel my everything. Special thanks to Hatoe for being part of the raging headcanon storm that inspired this, u are my better half.

Hajime looks up from his teacup between two delicate hands and cocks his head to the side. Eichi, smiling at him from across the table, pats the seat of his lap once more in invitation.

 _Have a seat_. Hajime sinks into his chair, ultimately failing to hide his pinkening cheeks behind the delicate china.

“President...I couldn't,”

“Don't be silly, Hajime-kun, it's your birthday.”

Eichi continues to smile, patient and poised like a prince. It's because he's so regal that Hajime can't easily accept his offer. Eichi already spoils him too much. Even though he's everybody’s president, even though he has the student council, and Fine as well. Hajime would be much happier if there was more he could do for Eichi, not the other way around.

Hajime peers down at his milky reflection in what must be now his fourth or fifth cup of tea. He's already drunk so much. It had been his wish after all.

  
_Hajime-kun, is there any particular birthday wish you have in mind? I'd be happy to grant it._  
Hajime shook his head _, Only to drink tea like this together for a long as possible._

  
And it was true Eichi had made no moves to get up from his seat, dutifully pouring tea for Hajime one cup after another without tire, despite how busy Hajime knew he must be. But he really was happy. He could listen to the president talk forever—he always had such interesting things to say, about tea, about idols, about horticulture and antique chinaware, and anything else, really, too. So when Eichi had offered that Hajime come over and sit in his lap...accepting such an offer, wouldn't that be asking too much?  
But he isn't really in any position to refuse either.

With a small nod, Hajime quietly scoots out his chair and rises to his feet, thumbing the rim of his saucer absently before deciding to leave it behind. He's not sure if this is the right choice or not, but the idea of picking it up and taking it with him feels kind of tactless and clumsy, not to mention the thought of accidentally spilling in Eichi’s lap makes him so anxious his stomach drops at the mere thought.

But when he shyly takes a seat, Eichi looks delighted, which does help boost his confidence a bit. An arm snakes its way around his front and draws him in close; even if he's not the biggest guy, Eichi’s chest feels broad and comforting against his own narrow frame and it takes a considerable amount of self control not to let himself relax into it. As it is, Hajime’s posture is all too rigid, like he's still afraid to enjoy himself too much.

“Relax.”

Eichi’s voice is gentle but not exactly warm, and his arm curls in tighter at Hajime’s waist. Hajime wiggles just a little at the pressure indenting his stomach, he's had a lot to drink after all—he'll probably have to excuse himself to use the bathroom soon, he thinks, with a trace of disappointment knowing his honored seat in Eichi’s lap will have to be short-lived.

Eichi chuckles softly into his ear and Hajime nearly jumps, forgetting for a second that Eichi can't possibly hear his thoughts and isn't laughing about _that_ , but it almost feels like he is.

“You left your tea, Hajime-kun. Were you hoping I'd share mine?”

Hajime turns pink and furiously shakes his head, “No, no! I just…”

Eichi leans forward over Hajime’s shoulder and smiles thinly, eyes drawing up into slits. He hikes Hajime further up on his lap again and Hajime clenches his thighs shut just in case.

“Just a joke, you don't have to be so tense. But I don't mind, you know. Let me spoil you a little.”

Eichi's hand at last parts from Hajime’s middle, who has to keep himself from sighing aloud with relief. He leans forward to pick up his cup and saucer, untouched since he’d poured his last cup, and lifts it before the younger boy’s face. A calming, floral smell wafts over him.

Hajime looks closely at the cup, it's simple at first glance, but up close it’s quite beautiful: white and gold and blue. Eichi’s told him extensively about the hidden meanings in the patterns and the history behind its making, and Hajime’s forgotten the specifics if he's being completely honest but he knows it's a very valuable and toiled over thing. This is President Tenshouin's favorite cup.

“This is my favorite cup,” Eichi echoes his thoughts, “if you'd like, please drink from it.”

Hajime opens his mouth to protest, that he couldn't possibly do such a thing, but Eichi’s apparently interpreted the gesture as compliance as he brings the porcelain to his parted lips.

It's no longer steaming but the warmth is pleasant as it lands on his tongue and the taste is fresh and sweet, though he's not sophisticated enough to say with confidence exactly what he's tasting. Hajime enjoys tea, and Eichi has been kind enough to share many varieties with him during club activities, but at home his cupboards are lined with only a few sparing samplings of cheap green and black teas.  
Something of this caliber is probably wasted on him, he thinks, but if it makes Eichi happy…

“It's very nice,” Hajime’s voice comes out squeakier than he'd have liked, but sitting in the president’s lap and drinking from his favorite cup has him reasonably nervous. He smooths his hands over his own lap, feeling his palms sweat just a little. Eichi’s arms continue to cage him in on either side, teacup in his left hand, saucer in his right.

“I'm glad you think so,” Eichi chuckles, “Please drink.”

Hajime doesn't know how to refuse, he can't exactly just say _no thank you, president, I have to pee_ , not to mention Eichi is holding the cup almost obstinately in front of his face with no intention of setting it down.

So Hajime drinks.

The hot liquid warms his tongue and throat as he delicately swallows it down in tiny gulps, he doesn't want to seem sloppy but Eichi hasn't removed the cup from his lips so there's not really much else to do but drink. Next thing he knows, though, it's dribbling down his chin and neck, and there are a couple of wet spots forming on his shirt and the front of his pants.

“Ah! I'm sorry!” He jerks in surprise, knocking the cup from Eichi’s hand.

Hajime almost sees his life finished before his eyes but it lands softly, uneventfully in his own cupped hands, and he's so relieved that every muscle in his body nearly turns to jelly before he remembers he’s got something he desperately needs to hold in.

“Oh dear.”

Eichi isn't quite frowning, but he's not smiling either. He plucks the cup from Hajime’s trembling fingers and sets it, along with the saucer, back on the table without so much as a thank you—Hajime burns with shame for even noticing such a thing, because why on earth should Eichi thank him just for avoiding a disaster that would have been his fault in the first place?

“I'm sorry,” he repeats softly, finally remembering it would be prudent to wipe the tea that's dripping down his chin and hastily lifting his hand to do so.

“It's not your fault, Hajime-kun. It's these hands of mine, see? They sometimes shake.”

As if to demonstrate this Eichi weakly pours another cup of tea. Eichi is very kind, but all Hajime can think, with all due respect to the president, is how very much he does not want to have to drink it.

Luckily Eichi sets it to cool and reaches for a napkin instead to dab at Hajime’s mouth.

Next is his shirt, and then last, the crotch of his pants. Eichi applies a bit too much pressure and Hajime jumps again, feeling his cheeks go hot. All he can picture, reeling in horror when he shuts his eyes, is that pristine white linen being dyed slowly yellow with his piss—which is all too close to having been a reality if Eichi had only pressed down a bit harder—and is incidentally also something he really, really does not want to happen.  
He should really excuse himself right about now.

“It's fine,” he stammers, stopping Eichi’s hand before, god forbid, he can press the napkin to his crotch again. That's embarrassing enough in and of itself even without the added complications. “I'll go to the bathroom and clean it myself!”

At least it's provided him with a good excuse to go use the restroom. Only Eichi isn't letting him go so easily.

“Nonsense. There, all better.” Eichi pointedly brushes off his attempt to leave, smiling and wrapping his arm tightly around Hajime’s waist once again as if to say _you aren't getting away from me so easily_.

“Hajime-kun, won't you have another cup of tea? I've poured it for you.”

Hajime opens his mouth to say no thank you before remembering how expensive the tea he'd be wasting is. He's never wasted anything in his life, he's not about to start with high end tea, which, while he does not know the exact cost is probably more than he’s saved all month by furiously collecting coupons and waiting in long lines for super sales.

Still it's with great reluctance that he forces the cup to his lips and takes a sip. He's not sure if it's better to take the smallest possible sip, or just finish it as quickly as he can so he can get up and go.

This is so embarrassing…  
Hajime closes his eyes and downs the contents of the cup without remembering to appreciate what a privilege it is for him to drink it—he doesn’t even remember what it tastes like, clenching his thighs as tightly shut as they can go and thinking only _hold it, just hold it_.

He's noticeably squirming now, but it can't be helped, all his energy is focused on two things: not spilling a single drop of tea, and not wetting his pants.

When he pulls back from the cup it’s with a small gasp for air, having downed its contents without so much as a single breath.

“Good boy, you drank it all.”

There's something about Eichi’s praise that makes heat flare up on his skin—something about this whole situation that makes Hajime feel like maybe, just _maybe_ he's being played with a little.

It almost feels... _perverted_ , but he's too ashamed of himself to admit it. Especially since Ritsu is asleep in the corner of the room like always. There's no way the president would try something impure with Ritsu still in the room—or at all, for that matter. Honestly, what is he _thinking_? Hajime shakes his head, he's getting a little desperate and it's clearly making his thoughts muddled.

A shiver rolls through him, and he knows it's gonna happen soon if he doesn't get up now, manners be damned. Still he tries to remain as tactful as possible.

“President, I'm sorry, I've got to…”

He squirms in Eichi’s lap, but Eichi’s still ignoring him, leaning forward to pour yet another cup. The feeling of an elbow digging into his bladder as he's forced to bend forward under the weight of Eichi's chest spikes a troubling combination of dread and inexplicable euphoria in the pit of his stomach. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes. He squirms more, no longer bothering to be discreet about it, hands practically clawing at Eichi’s iron grip around his wriggling hips.

“Please,” he sputters tearfully, past the point of caring how desperate he sounds because anything is better than wetting himself, even if he does it out in the hallway if he can make it that far it would still be better than doing it here.

“Hajime-kun, be still.” Eichi commands with a hint of a laugh in his voice, as if his junior is being absurd—and it probably looks that way honestly but he's past the luxury of caring anymore. “I'm not going to drop you, you don't need to squirm.”

It's almost comical how smoothly Eichi can keep up the charade, but what's not comical at all is the way he pulls in his hold, yanking Hajime further into his lap with a hard squeeze around his waist.

And that does it.

Hajime closes his eyes and nearly feels the will to live leave his body, yet some fight in him remains. He clenches but can feel the wet warmth spreading in his pants between his thighs, the damage done, but not _entirely_ done.

Looking back he’ll wonder if he shouldn't have just let it all out in one go, rather than trying to hold on, because he can't even feel relief in his bladder now but he sure does feel the absolute _shame_ and _mortification_ of having just pissed himself in Eichi’s lap.

His lips tremble as he tries to grasp the adequate words for an apology but there are none. All that comes out is a choked whimper followed by big, hot tears. Eichi has gone completely still and quiet beneath him, and that's hardly a comfort.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he finally manages to croak, as if sorry can possibly begin to cover it. The sound comes out shameful and ugly, and he covers his mouth to drown it out. Eichi shouldn't have to listen to his pitiful sobs.

“Oh my.”

Hajime sobs harder, muffling the sound with a weakly curled fist so as not to wake up Ritsu and start a commotion. His other hand goes to the front of his pants and clamps down tightly to avoid letting out any more.  
Speaking of which, he really needs to get up and go to the bathroom, _now_.

“I'm so sorry, I'm so…I've done something so…”

He can't even find the words, but at any rate he's got to get up. He leans forward to get his feet on the ground and all but flee from the club room, only Eichi is not letting him go.

“Please let go,” Hajime hiccups miserably, wiping snot on the back of his hand, not even realizing he's prying at Eichi’s grip with his other, piss-covered hand, “Please, I can't hold it anymore!”

Eichi's voice is low and soft from over his shoulder, “Don't hold it, then.”

A hand finds it's way between Hajime’s thighs and gives a good squeeze, and as if the pressure alone isn't enough the sheer surprise has Hajime wetting himself all over again with a tearful gasp.

“Just let it out, you'll feel much better.” Eichi all but sing-songs in his ear, feeling Hajime's piss leaking through the gaps between his fingers.

“Good boy.”

How lovely.

Hajime continues to relieve himself, crying quietly in defeat, small body shuddering in Eichi's grasp one pathetic sniffle after another until his bladder is finally emptied and he just slumps miserably in the blonde’s hold. It honestly feels amazing to let it all out after holding it this long, but…

“Please let go of me…”  
  
Hajime isn't even angry with him and if that's not the purest thing in the whole world then Eichi doesn't know what is. But how can he be angry, when all he can think about is how he's just _peed_ in the president’s lap?

Quite the contrary, Hajime doesn't understand how it’s even possible that _Eichi_ isn't angry with _him_. Or maybe he is angry, and that's why he isn't letting Hajime escape.

His pulse leaps into his eardrums at the sudden thought. He's never seen, only heard rumors of Eichi Tenshouin angry, but it's apparently a fearsome thing. The wrath of a Tenshouin is supposedly something you won’t know you’ve garnered until it’s too late. Hajime can't picture it, his head is filled with only images of kindly smiling Eichi, but then again Eichi is always smiling so maybe that's part of it.

Anyway, he’ll deal with the consequences as they come but for now one thing remains and that's that he can't stay seated here. Since pulling at Eichi’s arm isn't working he switches tactics, attempting to push off from his lap with both hands.

This proves to be a mistake, however, because not only can he feel just how wet front of the president’s pants are with his own piss, but also because his hand inadvertently lands directly on top of his dick.

And it's hard.

Hajime's hand flies up into the air so fast he nearly smacks Eichi in the face with it—thank god he doesn't because even if he thinks the situation can't be any worse, that definitely would make it so.

“I'm sorry.” he says quickly, because what else is there to say after peeing in someone's lap and then accidentally feeling up their boner.

“Ah, look what you did.”

“I'm sorry.”

The arms about his waist unfurl and wind upward, fingers splaying over his chest and pulling him back into Eichi’s hold.

“Hajime-kun,” he warns gently, “I'm not particularly angry with you, but I will be if you keep saying that.”

Hajime swallows thickly and nods.

“For now, try being productive, why don't you take off your pants?”

Hajime wants to beg Eichi’s pardon because there's got to be no way he heard that right, but he also really doesn't want to be stupid or useless and disappoint Eichi.

The hold on him loosens as if to encourage his compliance and Hajime shakily finds his way to his feet, fumbling for his belt. If he's being honest he does really want to take off these soaking wet pants as soon as possible. He blanches as he realizes just how much he’s peed, feeling the pool of urine in his pants trickle down his legs and catch in the wet, sticky folds of his bunched up slacks.

“Face me.”

Hajime turns silently, every now and then a small sniffle or tear escapes but the room is otherwise filled with the heavy sound of silent obedience.

As much as he tries to look literally anywhere else, Hajime’s eyes continually land on the dark, wet mark where his piss has soaked into Eichi’s pants—namely the part that's tented over his blatant arousal. A thick feeling of anticipation towards the imminent unknown wells up in his throat; it's enough to suffocate.

Almost robotically he unzips his own pants, feeling like his face is on fire—looking up at Eichi’s face is a mistake as his gaze is so cool and even that it nearly shoots Hajime down like an arrow. Well, that and he’s tripping over his pants a little as it turns out piss-wet pants are a little difficult to remove. He finds he has to bend over and pull them down bit by bit with some effort as the fabric sticks to his slick, drenched thighs. He steps out of them one foot at a time and awaits further instruction; it feels like a good idea to keep his underwear on even though they’re obviously the most thoroughly soaked. Removing them would set Hajime down an irreversible path, even if a part of him knows it’s where he’s headed at this rate anyway.

Luckily, Eichi doesn’t tell him to take them off.

“Get down on your knees and face the couch.”

Face the couch, meaning face Ritsu. Hajime closes his eyes, but that only makes his heart beat louder in his chest. Beneath his closed eyelids he can see the outline of Eichi’s upright cock through his wet pants more vividly than he could with them open.

He wills himself to stop crying as he crawls onto his knees, tucking his legs beneath him in obedient seiza. The truth is he’s more than a little excited, but in the way that he also kind of really wants to throw up right about now. Behind him he hears the zip of Eichi’s fly, the ruffling of his slacks coming off. More ruffling and Hajime comes to the horrific realization that Eichi is _folding_ not only his own but Hajime’s pants as well and setting them neatly somewhere behind them—probably over the top of his chair.

Eichi is disturbingly silent as he drops to his knees behind him, but Hajime can feel his presence there even before his slender, lovely fingers, wind their way around his shoulders and over his chest.  
Eichi feels out his heartbeat and leans forward, digging his chin into the soft curve where Hajime’s neck and shoulder meet.

“Are you excited?”

Eichi knows the answer, which is good, because Hajime can’t bring himself to give it. He lets out a shaky exhale and that seems to satisfy him just as well.

A pair of hands at his hips guide them slowly up and he leans forward, on his hands and knees. He feels silky hair tickling the back of his neck and something hard presses into him through the wet fabric of his underwear. Hajime panics and yelps, but the hands keep him in place.

“I’m not going to penetrate you Hajime, you can relax.”

Eichi’s words are so lacking in subtlety that it makes every inch of Hajime’s skin burn up to his ears—but it also considerably eases his fear and he allows his legs to be spread a little wider.

Still, what Eichi’s doing to him feels weird. The wet, squelching noises of his underwear as Eichi rubs into it isn’t helping, either. The realization hits him like a ton of bricks that this is the president’s... _thing_ pressing against his _hole_ through only a single layer of urine-soaked fabric. It’s not like he hates it, but the entirety of the situation is so terribly perverted that he’s having a hard time grasping it. But maybe...just maybe, it really isn’t all that bad. That is, until he looks up and see’s Ritsu’s sleeping face pointed right at him.

This is really bad, he thinks, this is lewd. This is really, really lewd. This is _irreversibly_ lewd.

Hajime stuffs his face into the carpet when the friction of Eichi’s cock on his ass becomes more _pushing in_ than _rubbing against_ , but just as he’s begun to think Eichi’s gone back on his word the pressure at his backside disappears altogether.

“Presi…dent?”

Just as Hajime turns to glance over his shoulder he feels a finger hook into the waistband of his underpants, feels the wet garment rolled down to his knees, forcing his thighs closer together. Something slips in between them, and he knows—with a sharp intake of breath—exactly what it is.

Eichi is sitting up now, on his knees, and his palm presses flat to the base of Hajime’s neck to keep his face glued to the floor while he thrusts in between those slippery thighs. Despite that he’s not even being touched, the sheer pervertedness of the entire situation has Hajime trembling hard and a soft whimper muffles beneath him in the carpet. The cool air on his small, wet cock makes him feel strange, and suddenly Eichi’s is sliding up beneath him and rubbing, slippery, against it. He lets Eichi take them both into his hand while he fucks between his thighs, the pressure of Eichi’s hand at the back of his neck almost becoming painful as he hears the breaths from above him becoming more audibly labored.

The last thought before Hajime comes is concern for the president’s health.

Eichi waits for Hajime to go soft in his hand before letting go and wiping his come on the side of his thigh. He slides in and out of Hajime’s thighs a couple more times before pulling back and coming on his ass and between his legs, and while he contemplates for a brief minute how tempting it would be to clean him up with his mouth right now, he doesn’t want to scare the poor boy. As it is, he probably went too far already.

“Well, that was enjoyable.” Eichi says with too much clarity in his voice for all that has just transpired. He stands and admires the view of Hajime, unmoving in a heap below him, panting, probably weighing and processing all of his his life decisions up to this point.

“I’ll go get a wet towel and some spare trousers—you wear a size small, yes?”

The first year nods absently, his eyes are fixed on Ritsu as if silently begging him not to wake up. Eichi takes some pity on him and grabs him by the shoulders, pulling him up just enough to sit him upright. “You did a good job, I’m very proud of you.”

Hajime seems to warm a little at this and nods shyly. What a good boy.

“I’ll be back soon, so wait for me here. And Hajime-kun—”

Hajime finally looks at him, turning over his shoulder, with a small, inquiring, “...yes?”

Eichi smiles. “Please do remember to drink your tea before it gets cold.”


End file.
